The afternoon was hot, but that didn’t stop the Tournament’s participants from training. Sweat clung to their bodies, the heat heavy on their backs, yet none of it mattered—not with the looming mission ahead.

  “How did you say this technique works again?” William asked, brows furrowed in concentration.

  “You focus your internal energy around your weapon,” Jin explained, voice patient. “Then you use that to enhance the force behind your strikes. It’s easier to understand if you see it for yourself—but you need to watch carefully.”

  Straight back. Steady shoulders. Offensive stance. Sword raised.

  Jin’s posture was flawless—controlled, focused, perfectly composed. He stood poised to demonstrate one of the traditional techniques passed down through the Yūrei bloodline: Enerugīsōdo.

  He drew in a slow, deliberate breath. A faint red glow shimmered to life around his katana, coiling and thickening until the blade was engulfed in a dense, pulsing light.

  William’s eyes widened in awe, but he didn’t blink. Not even once. He was determined not to miss a single detail.

  Then, Jin moved.

  With a sharp exhale, he brought the sword down in a clean, downward arc.

  The wooden post in front of him split in two—perfectly. Both halves dropped to opposite sides with barely a sound.

  “That was incredible!” William exclaimed, breaking into loud applause. Jin flushed slightly at the attention.

  “It’s just a piece of wood,” he said modestly. “But if you use this technique properly… you could cut through even the hardest metals. Doesn’t matter what weapon you’re holding.”

  “So… in theory, anything could become a lethal weapon?” William asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

  Jin gave a small nod. “Not everything, but almost.”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward Nigel, who was training several meters away.

  For days now, Nigel had been trying to master the basics of Enerugīsōdo. And for days, he had made no real progress. Every time he attempted the technique, the result was the same: an uncontrolled surge of energy that exploded outward, violently cutting through whatever stood in front of him.

  Technically, that was the intended effect.

  But something about the way Nigel did it was… off. Dangerous. Unstable.

  The energy never changed—no matter how much effort he put into adjusting it. It always came out with the same wild, destructive force. Jin had described the essence of Enerugīsōdo as “making anything cut cleanly in two.” But what Nigel had created was a blast that gouged a deep trench into the ground—massive, unrefined, and the same every time.

  Jin was worried.

  He feared that frustration might start to seep in. That Nigel would reach a breaking point and walk away. Jin had been there once himself—he knew exactly how easy it was to fall into that pit.

  “Can I try it?” William asked, pulling Jin from his thoughts.

  “Of course,” Jin replied, nodding. “But be very careful. I’m sure you noticed how I channeled my internal energy into the blade. Try to replicate that flow.”

  “Got it!” William beamed—but his enthusiasm dimmed slightly when Jin handed him a simple wooden practice sword. Still, the spark quickly returned to his eyes as he stepped forward and assumed the stance.

  A slow inhale. Offensive posture. Sword raised.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The goal was simple: land a hit on the training post—any damage at all would be a success. What mattered was that the sword didn’t splinter from misuse of energy.

  Jin wasn’t expecting much. In fact, he was already preparing to step in. If William lost control of his flow, the wooden blade would likely explode in his hands. It happened more often than not.

  A short distance away, Nigel had stopped training. His gaze rested on William, quiet but attentive.

  William raised the sword, mirroring every movement he’d seen just moments ago. Then, with a sharp breath, he brought the blade down in a clean arc.

  His form was off—anyone could see it. Sloppy, unrefined, the strike lacked the weight and balance of someone experienced with weapons. It should’ve barely scratched the surface.

  But the post split in half.

  Not cleanly like Jin’s—there were uneven edges—but it broke, and the wooden sword remained intact, save for a few shallow splinters.

  Both Jin and Nigel froze, wide-eyed.

  “Try it again,” Jin said, almost in disbelief. He needed to see if it had been luck—or something else entirely.

  “Sure!” William said, eager.

  He repeated the movements. This time, his posture was tighter. The swing sharper. Cleaner. The second post cracked with even less resistance.

  Jin stood motionless for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head, still processing.

  “Incredible… you might be a natural at this. It took me almost four months to reach the level you just showed me. And you got there in a few minutes.”

  “Seriously?” William asked, his eyes lighting up.

  Jin nodded, still baffled. He had estimated it would take William at least half a year to perform the technique with even partial success. What he saw now was far beyond that.

  William looked like he was about to burst from pride.

  But the moment didn’t last.

  “Do you know what that really means?” Nigel’s voice cut in from behind, calm but heavy.

  William turned, his excitement faltering. There was no anger in Nigel’s tone—only something harder to ignore. Something stern.

  “N-no,” he said. “What does it mean?”

  Nigel glanced at the blade in his hand before meeting William’s gaze.

  “It means you’ll have to train until you’re nearly dead. Every day. Without fail. Just being called a ‘genius’ doesn’t mean anything unless you prove it. Again and again.”

  William swallowed.

  “We’re not the strongest team in the Tournament,” Nigel continued, voice even. “Far from it. And right now? You’re a liability.”

  The words stung—but Nigel wasn’t trying to be cruel.

  “If you really have the potential to be strong, then use it. Push it to the limit. And start pulling your weight.”

  For a brief moment, Jin thought Nigel’s words had come from envy—frustration, even. After all, William had just achieved in minutes what Nigel hadn’t managed in days. But that thought vanished as quickly as it came.

  He understood now.

  Nigel wasn’t angry. He was pushing William forward in the only way he knew how—even if his words came out a bit harsh.

  Jin smiled quietly to himself. Just a little insight, a glimpse into the way Nigel thought. Blunt, maybe—but not cruel. Protective, in his own strange way.

  William nodded in silence.

  The excitement hadn’t left him, not entirely. But Nigel’s words had pulled him back to the ground—anchored him in reality.

  Yes, he had talent. Yes, he had potential. But that meant responsibility.

  If he really was going to grow stronger, then it wasn’t just about him anymore. That strength would come with the burden to protect—himself, and the others too.

  As Jin continued explaining new concepts, diagrams of energy flow and movement, William listened intently, absorbing every word.

  Meanwhile, Nigel returned to where he’d been before.

  He stood still, facing the wooden post once more. Staring at it.

  There’s something I’m doing wrong. Or maybe… maybe I’m just a failure.

  That thought stung sharper than any blade.

  In his current state—struggling to wield his weapon with precision, missing a limb—he was vulnerable. Weak. Even someone like William, barely trained, might be able to take him down.

  He clenched his jaw.

  He had entered the Chaos Tournament with the desperate hope of gathering enough power, in pursuit of finding a goal, something to live for.

  But all he had done so far… was lose an arm and come face to face with his own limits.

  No. I’m not strong.

  The truth was hard to swallow—but it was undeniable.

  The enemies he had once fought on the Rings weren’t strong. Not really.

  Even the Skill Users he’d faced before this tournament... they were nothing compared to what he had seen here.

  The other participants?

  They were on another level entirely

  And that was when Rampage spoke.

  Slipping through the cracks of Nigel’s frustration. Feeding on the vulnerability. That subtle voice—calm, smooth, and cold—curled around his thoughts like smoke.

  Perhaps you should stop comparing yourself to others.

  You have your own strengths.

  Nigel’s jaw tightened.

  “I’m ignoring you,” he muttered under his breath.

  Even if he felt like a failure, he didn’t have the luxury of giving up. Not here. Not now.

  I should at least be able to wield a sword, he told himself.

  That simple truth settled in his chest like lead.

  And with that frustration still burning—raw and unprocessed—he moved.

  He raised the sword again.

  No technique. No focus on control. Just raw effort, fueled by the pressure of being left behind.

  He kept swinging.

  Again. And again.

  If the others were growing stronger, then he had no choice but to catch up.

  Even if it killed him, he would not stop trying.